


this trap of mine

by Shinybug



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Bathing/Washing, Burns, First Kiss, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Injury Recovery, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:07:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23598088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shinybug/pseuds/Shinybug
Summary: “I’d do it again, you know,” Jaskier said softly.“I hope you won’t.”“Your life is worth more to me than my ability to play the lute, Geralt.” Until that moment Jaskier had never thought about it in those terms, and it still felt strange to say, but he knew in his bones it was the truth.***A serious injury leaves Jaskier dependent on Geralt, the man who doesn't want to be needed. Forced intimacy leaves them battling their own demons, and neither of them are good at sharing their feelings.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 234
Kudos: 1912
Collections: Abby's Witcher Collection, Dandelion





	1. Chapter 1

***

From the time Geralt’s medallion signaled him to when the wargs attacked was merely moments, barely enough time for him to draw his sword. They were huge, hulking things, with slavering jaws and emaciated bodies, bones prominent and eyes flashing crimson.

Jaskier was rotating the spit over the fire when they appeared in the circle of firelight, presumably drawn to the scent of roasting hare. In his haste to leap out of the way he caught his foot on a fallen branch and went down hard.

From the forest floor he watched in shock as Geralt spun and slashed, his sword whistling, taking down one warg, then a second one. A third attacked from seemingly nowhere while Geralt was dealing with the second, and he rolled out of the way just in time to escape the snapping teeth that would have sunk into his shoulder had he been one second slower.

"Get out of here, Jaskier!" Geralt shouted, glancing over his shoulder.

Jaskier ignore him and eyed his pack where his dagger was stashed. He could see the handle protruding from the top, but it was too far away and too close to the action to even consider trying for it, and he looked around for something else with which to defend himself. The branch he’d tripped on was a flimsy thing, unsuitable for defense against such an enormous creature.

He heard a sound behind him and rolled to a crouch in time to see a fourth warg snarling, still half in darkness outside the fire, ready to launch itself toward Geralt. As the creature sprang forward Jaskier acted on instinct, grabbing a sizable log from the edge of the fire and swinging it wildly at the warg, which leapt to the side to avoid the burning branch, taking itself within range of Geralt but behind him.

Geralt’s back was turned as he faced off with the third warg, his body swiftly in motion, but he seemed unaware of the fourth member of the pack. "Behind you!" Jaskier yelled, and wielded his burning log like a two handed sword. 

Though he had no training it was easy enough to leap forward at the warg, swinging hard and connecting with the thing’s haunches. The scent of singed fur and flesh filled the air and the warg yelped once, high and pained, turning toward Jaskier again. Geralt, alerted to the warg’s presence, spun in one powerful motion to slice through the throat of the third and the chest of the fourth. One thrust finished it off, and it fell beside the fire, motionless.

Jaskier was frozen in place, his chest heaving, brandishing the burning log in both hands. Geralt took stock of the situation, listening, and declared, “It’s done, they’re all dead.” He sounded slightly winded, and Jaskier thought it might have been from surprise more than anything. The whole encounter had lasted barely two minutes.

Finally Geralt looked to Jaskier, and his eyes widened. He stretched out a warning hand toward him and said with alarm in his voice, “Jaskier, drop it.”

Jaskier looked down with confusion to see his own hands wrapped around the log, which was still burning, and the end he was holding was glowing with bright embers. With shock he let go and it fell to the ground beside the fire, and he stared at his hands like they belonged to some other person, the flesh reddened and black with ash, then he looked up at Geralt, who was moving quickly to his side. He grasped Jaskier’s wrists, holding up his hands to examine them by the light of the fire. His mouth was pursed in a flat line and his eyes were angry.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Geralt gritted out between his teeth.

“I can’t feel it,” Jaskier said dumbly, staring at Geralt without comprehension.

“You just…” Geralt continued, seemingly at a loss for words. He took a deep breath. “That’s shock keeping you from feeling it. Stay here.”

He released Jaskier’s wrists and strode over to his pack, pulling out his chest of potions and medicines. Jaskier looked at his hands, finally registering the fact that he was badly injured. He started shaking and turned around to the large fallen tree that he’d been sitting on before all this happened. He reached for it to steady himself and at the last second he yanked his hand back, falling gracelessly to sit, unbalanced for a moment.

Geralt returned to his side with a skin of water, a jar of something viscous, and rolled up strips of cloth. “Hold still,” he ordered stiffly, and Jaskier couldn’t quite read his tone.

The second Geralt touched his palm the sensation came rushing back into both hands, a sharp white pain racing up his fingers to his forearms, and he gasped and pulled his hand back defensively, disbelieving at the way the pain started as a tingle then exploded into full burn, throbbing in time with his racing heart.

“Geralt,” he said, a statement and a question in one, high pitched and loud.

“Hold still, I said,” Geralt barked, his voice drowning out Jaskier’s cry. He held Jaskier’s wrist in an iron grip and cleaned the wounds with water, which made Jaskier bite back a scream, and he started to shiver uncontrollably. Geralt said, “Breathe, Jaskier,” and he took in a great gulp of air and then another.

When Geralt deemed the wounds clean he applied the salve, and Jaskier felt it begin to numb and tingle sharply at the same time, a strange sensation that made him nauseous. Geralt was quick and efficient, as he was with everything he did, and his touch was gentler than Jaskier would have expected. His racing thoughts recalled the way Geralt touched Roach, his hands always passive and respectful, and was ashamed to have thought Geralt wouldn’t have done the same with him.

When Geralt had finished with one hand he repeated the process with the other, and Jaskier realized on a hiccuping breath that tears were streaming down his face. Geralt ignored Jaskier altogether and focused on his task, wrapping palms and fingers carefully. Jaskier bit his cheek to avoid crying out when the cloth touched his burned skin, trying to hide his weakness from Geralt.

Hands wrapped safely, Geralt stepped away, standing between Jaskier and the fire. Jaskier shivered in the cold shadow where the heat didn’t reach. The pain was excruciating and he held his hands up to his chest protectively, trying not to whimper.

“Thank you,” he whispered shakily, and Geralt shifted uncomfortably. He turned away and stared at the fire, then leaped to remove the charred hare from the spit. He leaned the stick against the fallen tree to let it cool, then watched it longer than was necessary, as though he was more comfortable looking at that than he was at Jasker.

“The salve should help with the pain soon, and speed up the healing. There may still be scarring,” he said, his tone slightly softer than usual. 

Jaskier nodded and looked down at his hands. Reality was sinking in slowly in fits and starts. He’d lost the use of his hands. How would he function? Out of the corner of his eye he saw his lute propped against the tree and his heart dropped like a stone.

“Geralt,” he started, but couldn’t finish, and couldn’t look away from the lute.

“Don’t think about it right now,” he said gruffly. “You’ll be playing again soon.”

Jaskier couldn’t tell if he was lying or not, and he couldn’t stop thinking about the scarring. What if it was too deep? What if he had just lost his fingers’ nimbleness, their dexterity?

“Why the fuck did you do that?” Geralt asked quietly, sounding both angry and bewildered.

Jaskier shrugged a little, still shaking from shock and pain. “It was coming for you.”

“And I would have taken care of it, that’s my job. Not yours.”

“But you didn’t see it, did you?”

Geralt looked away from him and didn’t say anything.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Jaskier said quietly.

Geralt let out a slow breath. “Better I take an injury than you.”

“Why? Because you heal faster than I do? You can’t heal if you’re dead, Geralt.”

“You still shouldn’t have fucking done that.”

Jaskier frowned, looking down at his hands and thinking of his lute again. “I’ll do it again someday, I’m sure. One of these days you’ll be taken by surprise again, and I’ll be here watching your back.”

Geralt stood up angrily. “You shouldn’t have to watch my back, you’re not a fighter. You’re a fucking bard, Jaskier.”

Jaskier bristled at his tone. “You think I can’t be both? I just saved your life.”

Geralt looked him in the eye and Jaskier saw anger with a thread of fear. He’d never seen Geralt afraid, not once in the years they’d known each other. He didn’t know what to make of that.

After a moment Geralt stalked away from the fire and into the woods, disappearing into the dark.

Jaskier stared after him, frustrated and in pain. His stomach rumbled and he looked at the hare. Some of it looked salvageable, but he couldn’t touch it. He realized that Geralt would have to help him eat, would have to help him do everything, until he healed.

He held his hands against his chest, and he closed his eyes. _The last thing I want is someone needing me._ Geralt’s words echoed in his head and he felt afraid and alone, completely dependent on someone who would resent having to help him.

Slowly the salve did its work, and the pain receded into something much more manageable. Jaskier could breathe again, could focus. He rolled his shoulders back and stood up, deciding to look for Geralt. Wherever he had gone wouldn’t be too far, he reasoned, for however angry he was feeling he wouldn’t leave Jaskier defenseless for too long.

Jaskier ignored the dead wargs and stepped past them, heading into the darkness. He had an idea of where Geralt would go, and followed the sound of the nearby stream.

Geralt was standing on the bank with arms crossed, staring at the water when Jaskier came up beside him.

“Are they better?” Geralt asked gruffly.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier bit his lip. “Won’t you come back and have some dinner?”

Geralt sighed.

“I’d prepare it for you since you’re clearly busy, but alas…” He felt awkward bringing it up, the fact that he was helpless, but decided that it was best to meet the problem head on.

Finally Geralt looked at him, and Jaskier stared back. The moon was rising and Geralt’s expression was clear to see, a mixture of chagrin and worry. He jerked his head in the direction of camp and turned to leave, waiting for Jaskier to catch up.

Jaskier watched as Geralt prepared the hare, tossing the most charred bits into the fire and separating the good meat into a bowl to share. He felt uncomfortable just sitting there waiting, as though he was royalty and couldn’t be bothered to pick up his own fork. Geralt was silent, unsurprisingly.

When he was done he joined Jaskier on the log and picked up a bit of meat for Jaskier. He held it out and Jaskier carefully bit it, keeping his teeth far back so as not to bite him, but his lips still brushed Geralt’s fingertips by accident. Embarrassed, Jaskier pulled back quickly. Geralt looked away and ate some himself. They shared their meal that way, alternating bites, and by the end Jaskier’s lips were tingling from so many touches from Geralt’s fingers. He felt flustered and uncomfortable, having taken pleasure in something that Geralt clearly felt such distaste for.

“Thank you,” Jaskier said when they were done. “That was...awkward. Sorry for that.”

Geralt shook his head. “It’s fine.”

He got up and retrieved a wineskin, uncorking it as he brought it back. He held it for Jaskier to drink, and Jaskier took a few more swallows than usual. He felt that he’d earned it, and wouldn’t mind getting a little drunk just then. Geralt huffed at him but didn’t say anything. Jaskier licked the wine from his lips and Geralt took a long drink himself.

Together they finished off the wine, and Jaskier felt much better by the time it was gone. He had slipped down to the ground and was leaning back against the log, his wrists propped on his raised knees. Geralt sat on the log, towering over him.

“I’d do it again, you know,” Jaskier said softly.

“I hope you won’t.”

“Your life is worth more to me than my ability to play the lute, Geralt.” Until that moment Jaskier had never thought about it in those terms, and it still felt strange to say, but he knew in his bones it was the truth.

After a few minutes Geralt’s hand settled on Jaskier’s shoulder, and Jaskier jumped, startled. Geralt didn’t say anything out loud, but Jaskier understood that he was saying ‘thank you’ in the only way he could. Jaskier wanted to lift his hand to touch Geralt’s, wanted to see if Geralt would allow it, but his hands only twitched in their wrappings, useless.

Jaskier’s head grew heavy as the wine took him closer to sleep, but he became aware that his bladder was full and realized with a shock that he didn’t know how to navigate that by himself.

“Geralt,” he said hesitantly, “I need to, um, take a piss.”

“Hmm,” Geralt said, thoughtfully. “Okay, stand up.”

To his embarrassment, he couldn’t stand up by himself, so Geralt had to take his wrists and pull him upright. Jaskier ended up far too close to Geralt and stepped back quickly. He looked down at his breeches, then at his bandaged hands. 

Slowly Geralt reached for Jaskier’s buttons, carefully slipping them through their holes, and despite the fact that he clearly tried not to touch anything else Jaskier couldn’t help but feel the pressure of his fingertips against his cock.

Buttons undone, Jaskier said, “Wait,” when Geralt hesitated at the next step. Jaskier thought he might be able to use just the unbandaged fingertips of his left hand, the only parts spared from the fire, to take care of business. “I’ll get it from here.”

Geralt nodded stiffly and stepped away. Jaskier wandered into the forest a little way and found an obliging bush, then did his best to pull himself out with two fingertips. It was painful to do and he couldn’t bend his fingers, but he managed it, and he was in fact able to take care of business. Getting himself back in was a trick but he succeeded in that too.

He returned to the fire and Geralt stood up to meet him. He buttoned Jaskier’s breeches with the same care as he had unbuttoned them, and Jaskier had to look away from such an intimate moment.

“Thanks,” he muttered when Geralt was done.

Geralt nodded. “I need to take care of the bodies.”

“Okay.” Jaskier sat by the fire again, watching quietly as Geralt dragged the wargs away toward the river one by one. He came back after the last one with his sleeves rolled up and his hands and face dripping water, freshly washed.

“Are you ready for sleep?”

Jaskier thought about it and decided that the wine had brought him to that pleasant point where he might be able to go to sleep and ignore the pain for a bit. “Yeah,” he answered. “Can you help with my bedroll?”

Geralt laid it out beside his own, which Jaskier appreciated. He felt more vulnerable than usual, and knew he’d sleep better if Geralt was within reach. He lay down and Geralt tossed a blanket over him, then settled down on his own bedroll.

Jaskier turned his head and caught Geralt’s eye. “I’m sorry that my selfless act led to such selfishness on my part. I know you don’t want to be needed.”

“It’s fine. We’ll manage. We should reach the next town by tomorrow evening, and it will be easier to heal in an inn than on the road.”

“I believe you’re right. I wouldn’t mind a night in a real bed, and a bath if it’s available.” He had a sobering thought and his heart gave a twinge. “I don’t know if we’ll be able to afford a room if I can’t perform.”

Geralt grunted. “I’ve saved some, and if I take a job we can stay longer than one night.”

Jaskier smiled and it felt stiff on his face, after crying earlier. “That would be lovely.”

He tried to adjust his sleeping position so as not to put pressure on his hands, but every time he brushed against something the pain flared hot. Eventually he ended up on his back with his hands resting on his abdomen. It wasn’t ideal but it hurt less than anything else so he settled in for the night.

Jaskier was nearly asleep when he heard Geralt say softly, “Good night.”

He couldn’t remember the last time Geralt had wished him a good night, so he whispered it back and Geralt said, “Hmm.”

Jaskier drifted off to sleep with the taste of wine on his tongue, an echo of pain in his hands, and Geralt’s deep voice in his ear.

***

At some point in the night Jaskier rolled onto his side and was awakened by sharp pain when he caught his hands on his blanket and the hard ground. He moaned and pulled his hands to his chest, longing for sleep, and then he felt Geralt’s hand on his shoulder, guiding him back into a better position and helping him with his hands. It was unprecedented and strange, but Jaskier closed his eyes and accepted the help, focusing on the brief but soothing touch on his wrist instead of the pain. Eventually he fell back asleep, wishing that Geralt would touch him again.

***


	2. Chapter 2

***

In the morning Jaskier woke to the sound of Geralt packing up their camp. The early morning light was hazy through the trees and Jaskier watched him for a minute with unfocused eyes, trying to ignore the throbbing in his palms, remembering Geralt’s comforting touches the night before. He hadn’t dreamed it, he was almost certain.

When he sat up Geralt came over and helped him stand, lifting him by the forearms. “How’s the pain?”

Jaskier tried to smile. “Pretty awful, actually.”

Geralt nodded, as though he had expected as much. “I’ll reapply the salve and wrap them again before we leave.”

“Thanks. First I need to go…” he gestured to the woods and Geralt reached for his buttons without any hesitation. Jaskier watched his strong fingers at work and tried to take a deep breath without being too obvious about it.

Of all the ways and reasons he had imagined Geralt unbuttoning his breeches, this had never been on the list.

When he had finished Geralt brought out the salve and bandages again. The pain was intense when Geralt unwrapped his hands and the air hit the wounds, but Jaskier had to admit that he had expected his hands to look worse.

“It’s helping,” Geralt confirmed, applying more salve while Jaskier tried not to cry out. Finally when he couldn’t take it anymore he lifted the arm not being worked on and pressed his mouth to his wrist, trying to muffle the sound.

“You can make noise,” Geralt said, not looking up from his task.

Given permission, Jaskier let out a whimper and bit his lip. He took long, deep breaths while he waited for the nausea to pass. By the time Geralt had finished with both hands Jaskier was beginning to find a measure of relief from the salve, and without thinking he just tipped forward to lean on Geralt. It was like leaning against a large oak tree, hard and immovable. He knew he should pull away but the pain was exhausting and Geralt’s presence was a comfort to him, unlikely as that was.

Geralt was stiff for a moment but then softened and closed his hands on Jaskier’s forearms. “You’re welcome,” he said, and Jaskier smiled against his shoulder.

Breakfast was some bread and hard cheese they’d picked up in the last town, and Geralt helped him eat it. It wasn’t as awkward as it had been the night before, but still Jaskier couldn’t escape the fact that he found it arousing somehow.

Then they were heading out on the road, and Roach bumped Jaskier with her nose as though she knew something was out of the ordinary. Jaskier’s lute was tied up on the saddle so he wouldn’t have the burden of carrying it and constantly adjusting the strap.

Geralt walked next to Jaskier, and when Jaskier sent him a confused glance Geralt said, “I’d put you on Roach but you wouldn’t be able to hold on. I’ll walk with you in case you need help.”

“Oh. Well, thank you. I’m glad of the company, I suppose,” he teased, and Geralt seemed to almost smile.

The day passed uneventfully, just mile after mile of road and a cool autumn sun. Jaskier’s hands hurt less when he held them upwards against his chest but after hours of that his arms grew so tired that he had to drop them just to be able to carry on. His hands throbbed more that way but he didn’t see any alternative.

He sensed Geralt looking at him sometimes, but whenever he glanced over Geralt was looking somewhere else. Geralt did stop to rest more often than he would have otherwise, which was very kind.

Around sundown they reached the town and located the inn. Geralt handed Roach off to the stable boy with a warning frown and then they took their packs into the inn. Upon seeing the lute the innkeeper became more excited about their presence there, but Jaskier had to disappoint him, waving his bandaged hands.

“Alas, my good man, the true instruments of my genius have been damaged.” Saying it out loud and with a smile hurt even more than he had expected, but he relied on his theatrical ability to carry it. “We would, however, be happy to hear of any monsters your lovely town may be in need of removing, as my dear comrade here is a Witcher by trade.”

“Well,” said the innkeeper, rubbing his chin, “we have had a few people go missing along the river’s edge recently. Could be them whatsits, those that drown people.”

“Drowners,” Geralt replied unironically. Jaskier hid a smile.

“That’s the ones. You might check with the alderman and see if he’ll give you a contract for them.”

“Thank you, my friend,” Jaskier said, just shy of being too effusive, hoping to garner goodwill in the form of prime accommodations. “Now, shall we see about the room?”

Once they had their key they immediately went to drop their things there, despite the fact that Jaskier would consider murder in exchange for an ale. Their room was surprisingly well appointed, with a bed large enough to share and a bathtub by the window. There was even a mirror for shaving and an array of bathing salts and oils on a little table.

“Let us never leave this place, Geralt,” Jaskier exclaimed, sitting on the edge of the bed and testing its softness.

Geralt snorted. “It will suit.”

Jaskier sighed and collapsed backward onto the bed.

“How’s your pain?” Geralt asked while removing his armor.

“Still hurts a lot, but better than this morning. My shoulders are what hurt the most, from holding my hands up all day.”

“Alright. We can have a bath drawn after dinner. That should help.”

Jaskier sat up. “You’re being awfully accommodating.”

Geralt paused in straightening his shirt. “The alternative being what?”

“Well...making me do everything myself, I suppose.”

“It’s more efficient if I help you,” Geralt replied stiffly, not looking at him.

Jaskier smiled, a little ruefully. “I do appreciate it, all the same.”

“Let’s go have some dinner,” Geralt said, ignoring the thanks.

They ordered at the bar and sat together at a table near the back to wait with their ales. It was a boisterous crowd that night, and Jaskier’s heart ached as he automatically read the room and concluded that it would have been a wonderful night for a performance.

“Maybe you could just sing,” Geralt said suddenly, and Jaskier glanced at him in surprise. “Just a thought.”

Jaskier actually gave it a moment to think about it, but ultimately shook his head. “It doesn’t work for a crowd like this. At a lordly court, perhaps, where it’s more about love ballads than lewd ditties, I could sing unaccompanied. Unfortunately ballads wouldn’t work here.”

Geralt shrugged and drank his ale.

It wasn’t until their plates arrived that Jaskier realized their mistake. He looked at his fork and then up at Geralt.

“We need these brought to our room,” Geralt said to the barmaid, who raised her eyebrows.

“Please,” Jaskier added with a charming smile.

They retired to the quiet of their room and Jaskier let out a sigh. “Well at least here I can be fed like a child by a mighty Witcher and no one will look sideways at us.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.”

“I’m sorry, have you met me?”

Geralt fed him his dinner and Jaskier was happy to have a well rounded meal no matter how it got to his mouth. He was disappointed, though he didn’t want to admit it, that the fork meant Geralt’s fingers were too far from his lips. Intimacy took on a whole new dimension when one considered infirmity rather than sexual attraction. On the other hand, there was no reason why one couldn’t experience both at once.

After dinner Geralt said he would call for a bath, and Jaskier panicked. All he could think of was being utterly naked and defenseless in front of Geralt, who would have to bathe him. There was no way that he’d be able to hide all his secrets then, and it would just add another level of strain on their friendship. He would put it off as long as possible.

“You know, on second thought, I’m quite tired. Maybe we can save the bath for another day.”

Geralt eyed him closely, probably because Jaskier had never turned down a bath in his life. “Alright, tomorrow then. But first I’ll change your dressings.”

Jaskier suffered through it in silence this time, and he was relieved that the pain was a bit less every time they repeated the process. In the firelight his hands were dark red, the skin rough and damaged, and Jaskier wondered how he would ever touch a lute again.

“Before you go to sleep I’ll rub your shoulders,” Geralt said in a tone that invited no argument.

“That’s not necessary,” Jaskier assured him, because he had never heard a statement he couldn’t argue against. He rolled his shoulders back and smiled like it didn’t hurt at all, but the motion pulled tightly across the knots in his muscles and the smile turned into a wince. Geralt was not amused.

“Right, come here.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to take off your shirt.”

Jaskier went over to him with a ball of dread in his stomach, torn between wanting Geralt to undress him and wanting Geralt nowhere near him, for his own good. Geralt gently pulled off his doublet, taking great care to uncuff the sleeves and carefully slip them over his bandaged hands. He did the same with his shirt, then pulled it over Jaskier’s head and tossed it on the bed with the doublet. They stood there motionless for a moment while Jaskier forgot to breathe and Geralt’s eyes flickered once over his bare torso and then met his gaze.

“Sit here,” he ordered, pulling a chair over near the fire where the warmth immediately soothed Jaskier. He sat and waited while Geralt rummaged in his collection of bottled medicines, then Geralt returned with a jar of what smelled like lavender oil when he poured some out and slicked his hands.

At the first touch of Geralt’s broad hands on his skin Jaskier bit back a gasp, involuntarily trying to clench his fists. He straightened them out again, cursing himself for the pain, and refocused on Geralt. His calloused fingers worked some kind of magic on his muscles, digging out the knots and smoothing out the tension. The lavender made him sleepy and the slide of Geralt’s fingers made him complacent, and soon enough he felt a stirring in his cock. He bit his lip, panicking, and his shoulders tensed up again.

Geralt paused and then flicked his shoulder. “Relax,” he rumbled crossly.

Jaskier huffed a little laugh. “Your healing skill is unparalleled, though your healing manner could use some improvement.” He made an effort to let his shoulders drop down again, and sternly told his cock to stop that nonsense. It more or less worked, and he maintained an arousal at half-mast for the rest of the time that Geralt worked on his shoulders.

Geralt didn’t stop there, though. He worked his way down both arms, massaging the tension all the way down to his wrists. At one point Jaskier couldn’t help the moan that slipped out, and Geralt looked at him with an unreadable expression. Most of Geralt’s expressions were unreadable, so Jaskier was unsurprised.

When Geralt finally declared it done Jaskier felt like a ball of wax too close to a fire. He stood up on shaky legs, unbalanced and hazy, and Geralt steadied him.

“Thank you,” Jaskier whispered hoarsely, standing too close to Geralt, breathing the scent of him underneath the lavender, like wood smoke and salt.

Geralt nodded, his eyes somber.

“Would you like to sleep in your shirt?”

Jaskier shook his head. “I don’t want to get oil on it. I’ll just sleep in my smallclothes.”

Geralt removed Jaskier’s boots, and then slowly reached for the buttons on Jaskier’s breeches. Jaskier stood perfectly still, knowing that there was no way that Geralt wouldn’t notice the state he was in. When the buttons were all slipped from their holes Geralt tugged the breeches down his thighs and calves until Jaskier could step out of them, and Geralt glanced up at him from where he knelt on the floor. There was something shifting there in Geralt’s golden eyes. Jaskier couldn’t tell what it meant but it left him breathless.

Clad in only his smallclothes, Jaskier turned away before Geralt could say or do anything else. He took a shaky breath and lay down in the bed, suddenly exhausted from pain and muscle fatigue and trying to keep himself from reacting to Geralt’s attention.

He’d always craved the small smiles that Geralt would send his way on rare occasions, or the companionable conversations on the odd days when Geralt was inclined to do more than tolerate his presence. But he’d only ever dreamed of these touches, this concern, the lingering looks he gave Jaskier now. He wondered if it was all due to a sense of obligation; Jaskier had saved his life, so Geralt now owed him a debt of gratitude and was paying it by caring for his injury. He felt that was most likely the case, and it rubbed him the wrong way.

“I don’t want you going to all this extra trouble for me if it’s only out of a sense of duty,” Jaskier said quietly as Geralt was getting into bed beside him wearing his shirt and smallclothes.

Geralt paused for a moment and then pulled the blanket over both of them. “It’s no trouble,” he replied, which wasn’t exactly an answer but sounded sincere all the same. “Can you get the candle?”

Jaskier leaned up on his elbow, careful of his bandaged hand, and blew out the candle on the side table. In the half darkness, lit only by the fire that was dying down, Geralt was a formidable shape beside him, laying on his side and facing Jaskier.

“Do you need anything else?” Geralt asked, and Jaskier wished he could see his eyes.

“No,” he whispered, while inside he was screaming yes. It was by no means the first time they’d shared a bed at an inn, in fact they did it frequently. But usually Jaskier managed to ignore any sense of intimacy, resolutely sticking to his side of the bed and acting perfectly aloof. This time felt different.

He was hyper aware of Geralt’s body next to his, the heat and scent of him, and he could feel Geralt watching him in the dark.

“What?” he asked softly.

There was silence for a long time, and Jaskier assumed Geralt wouldn’t answer, but eventually he did. “It’s no trouble,” he repeated, a low rumble of sound.

Jaskier swallowed around the lump in his throat, then carefully leaned the back of his bandaged hand against Geralt’s chest, just a brief touch, then took his arm back. Geralt put his hand on Jaskier’s shoulder and left it there, and Jaskier fell asleep listening to Geralt breathe.

***


	3. Chapter 3

***

When Jaskier woke the next morning he was on his side with his hands resting together on the edge of the bed. He flexed them gently and the pain that flared was far less than he expected. He felt a warmth all along his back and knew that it was Geralt, not touching him but close enough to lean back into if he was brave enough.

He wasn’t though.

Jaskier got up off the bed and stretched, trying to get some space between them for his peace of mind. He glanced back and was startled to see Geralt awake and watching him. He just lay there, his head propped on his arm, his golden skin peeking through the open collar of his shirt and tempting Jaskier to put his mouth on it.

“Good morning,” Jaskier said hoarsely, turning away.

“Morning,” Geralt replied, amiable in a way that Jaskier rarely heard him. “How did you sleep?”

“Like the dead,” Jaskier said as he contemplated trying to put his own clothes on using only his fingertips. He tried to pick up his breeches and fumbled them immediately, and he sighed deeply.

Geralt came over and helped him, and Jaskier began to think that he would be spending the rest of his life half-hard when Geralt’s knuckles brushed against his cock through his smallclothes as he worked. He knew that Geralt had to be aware of it, and was ignoring it out of politeness. Geralt quickly moved on to pull Jaskier’s shirt over his head, and he rolled up the sleeves for him so that he could redress his hands.

Whatever was in Geralt’s salve had to be magical in nature, because Jaskier had never seen such wounds heal so quickly. They still looked angry and red, but the skin was definitely smoothing out and the raw sensation that had plagued him yesterday had gone.

“I’m going to the alderman after breakfast to see about those drowners,” Geralt told him as he got dressed himself.

“Alright,” Jaskier said, suddenly realizing that he had no idea what to do with his day. He wandered over to the window and saw that the sky was an ominous shade of gray with dark clouds blowing in, promising rain. “Though it looks like it will be a very unpleasant day out there.”

“When has that ever stopped me from doing my job? And besides, we need the money if we want to stay another night.”

“Both very good points.”

Geralt pulled his boots on and went to the door. “I’m going to order breakfast and check on Roach.”

Jaskier nodded and waved him on. “Let’s not continue dithering about it, I’m hungry.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow and left.

Once he had gone Jaskier sat in the chair by the fire and warmed his toes on the hearth. The fire had gone out but the bricks still held onto some heat, and he sighed at the simple pleasure. He held his hands in his lap and thought about Geralt, wondering at the sudden change in him. 

Something about their circumstances had turned Geralt solicitous, and as far as Jaskier knew he’d only ever been that way about one person. He didn’t like to think about her often, and he was glad it had been some time since they’d encountered her.

Jaskier was lost in thought when Geralt returned, a large platter of food in his hands. They sat on the bed together with the platter between them and shared bread and cheese and cold pork, and it was becoming less strange to be fed by Geralt with each meal. Even better, there were no forks this time, and Jaskier was beginning to wonder if all the accidental touches from Geralt over the last day were all that accidental after all.

He wasn’t sure what to make of that. He knew his own heart and what he wanted, but he wasn’t sure he could trust Geralt’s motives. If he had never approached Jaskier before, then this situation of dependency and gratitude didn’t mean that Geralt was truly drawn to him. It was more likely that their odd intimacy was feeding a curiosity in him.

Worse, Jaskier wasn’t sure he cared. If Geralt were to touch him deliberately, Jaskier knew that he would bend to him like a reed in the wind, heedless of the consequences.

By the time Geralt left again Jaskier had worked himself into a complicated mood. He watched Geralt pull items out of his pack so he wouldn’t have to do it himself later, like his pages of half-written songs and his favorite book of poetry, and he thought of how badly he wanted him. Jaskier hadn’t asked him to do that, Geralt had remembered all on his own.

Geralt left just as the first raindrops began to patter on the window glass, pausing at the door to look back at Jaskier. “I asked the innkeeper to send up some lunch for you later.”

Jaskier just blinked at him, transfixed. “Thank you,” he said finally. “Good luck, Geralt.”

Geralt nodded and then he was gone.

The day suddenly stretched before him as a series of obstacles to be overcome alone, and Jaskier decided to test himself. He couldn’t lift the cup of ale that Geralt had left for him on the table, but he could use the fingertips of his left hand to eat a leftover bit of cheese from the platter. He could smooth his hair into submission in the little mirror by the bathtub. He could lay out his music sheets on the bed and study them, though he couldn’t manage the quill and ink to revise them.

He busied himself with his music for a long time, humming and singing new lyrics with old, wishing he could write them down but relying on his memory to record them. He was singing ‘This Trap of Mine’ when a barmaid named Belynda arrived with his lunch, and she was so enamored of the bits she had heard through the door that he sang a few verses for her. She clasped her hands in front of her and watched him with dancing eyes.

“Master Jaskier, you are truly magnificent,” Belynda said when he was done, and her eyes twinkled in a way that he was very familiar with. “I am ever so sorry that your hands must be damaged so. Is there anything that I can assist you with? Anything at all?”

Jaskier knew exactly what she was hinting at, and while she was certainly comely enough his head was filled only with Geralt, and he shied away from indulging. “My dear, I find I am still nimble enough to get along until my companion returns, but I thank you all the same.”

At the mention of his companion her eyes turned regretful. “I had wondered about your Witcher. It is said that you have tamed the White Wolf with your voice alone.”

Jaskier laughed. “I can assure you that he is neither tamed, nor would he ever be by my voice.”

“But he does take excellent care of you, I can see. I have an eye for these things, working in an inn. If only I could find one to tend to my needs with such dedication, I’d never let him leave my bed.” She winked and left, while Jaskier blinked, realizing belatedly what she had implied.

He managed to feed himself clumsily, and was proud to have done so. He tried again to lift the cup of ale with his bandaged hands and found that he could do it if he steeled himself against the pain, so he quaffed the whole thing at once. Then he had to tackle the ultimate test, which was to unbutton his breeches by himself.

It took him the better part of five minutes to slip the buttons free and then another ten to button them back up again, and he was quite tired afterwards and just a little bit drunk, so he collapsed on the bed and flipped through his favorite book of poetry.

The rain was drumming softly against the window and his head felt pleasantly fuzzy, so he laid it down next to his book, and the next thing he knew Geralt was brushing the hair away from his forehead with a gentle touch.

“Geralt,” he murmured, blinking drowsily as Geralt’s fingers trailed down his cheek, brushing across his lips with deliberate intent. Jaskier’s eyes closed again at the sensation and he lifted his head, following that touch with his mouth. He heard Geralt take a swiftly indrawn breath and then he pressed his thumb into Jaskier’s lower lip.

Such a simple touch, yet Jaskier felt his cock stirring. He nipped at Geralt’s thumb and moaned, and Geralt said his name softly. Jaskier opened his eyes and saw Geralt standing in the doorway, staring at him, startled.

“Geralt,” he said in embarrassment, realizing it had only been the beginning of a very nice dream. He wondered how much of his reaction had been obvious, if Geralt had heard him moan. If Geralt had heard Jaskier say his name. “I was dreaming.”

“Yes,” Geralt replied, sounding a bit hoarse.

Jaskier sat up, flustered and hoping to quickly move on from the moment. “I see you successfully dispatched the drowners,” he said, noting Geralt’s muddy clothes and dripping hair. 

Geralt nodded, coming in and closing the door behind him. “It was only a pack of three, not too difficult. I earned us enough for a few more nights here.”

“That’s wonderful,” Jaskier said, glancing at the window and seeing that it was already late afternoon, and still raining. Geralt was soaking wet, and Jaskier went to him to help with his armor like he usually did, only to come up short when he reached for him and saw his bandages.

“It’s fine,” Geralt said softly. “I’ve been dealing with my own armor for longer than you’ve been alive.”

“I know, I just...like to help,” Jaskier replied awkwardly.

Geralt glanced at him. “You can help again soon enough. How are your hands?”

Jaskier flexed them gently and only felt a dull pain. “Much better. I don’t know if they’re ready for taking the bandages off, but they don’t hurt as much anymore.”

“Good. I’ll look at them later. How did you do without me today?”

Jaskier shrugged. “I managed. I can feed myself now, which I’m sure will be a relief to you. And I conquered my buttons, though it took me a while.”

“Hmm.” Geralt stripped off the last of his armor and sat down in the chair to wipe it clean.

Jaskier wasn’t sure what reaction he had hoped for from Geralt regarding his independence, but a hum was not it. “So I won’t need your help much longer, I think,” he continued, watching Geralt closely.

Geralt nodded. “I called for a bath.”

Jaskier pursed his lips in consternation. “Alright. I suppose we both need one.”

Armor clean, Geralt tossed the rag away and went about lighting a fire to warm the cold room. “You could have asked a servant to do this.”

“After I sang for the barmaid she offered herself up for a bit of fun, and once I’d turned her down it seemed like the wrong time to ask her to light a fire for me.”

Geralt froze, then looked up at him. “You sang for a barmaid?”

“I had little else to do, Geralt. I had a new song to practice, and she wanted to listen.”

Geralt turned away stiffly and stripped his shirt over his head. There was mud streaking along one shoulder and Jaskier couldn’t stop staring at it.

A knock on the door announced the arrival of the servants with buckets of steaming water to fill the bathtub. Among them was Belynda, whose eyes sparkled when she saw Geralt without his shirt. She gave Jaskier a knowing glance, which Geralt noticed. He crossed his arms and looked intimidating, but she just waltzed out with her empty bucket looking amused.

Geralt stripped down and got into the tub, and Jaskier made himself look away. Once he was settled in the water Jaskier glanced over again. Geralt looked irritated, a familiar expression for him.

“So everything went fine with the drowners?”

“They were easy, once I found them. They’d recently eaten a fisherman, so they weren’t too interested in me.”

“Oh,” Jaskier replied. “Then why are you irritated?”

He shot Jaskier a look. “I’m not irritated.”

“Well, you look irritated.”

“This is just my face.”

“No, sometimes you look...not that way.”

“I’m fine.”

There was silence while Geralt bathed, and Jaskier wasn’t sure what he should be doing since he couldn’t help Geralt with his hair like he often did. He was gathering up his loose papers from the bed when Geralt said softly, “What song did you sing for her?”

Jaskier fumbled the papers and they scattered. “Um. It’s called ‘This Trap of Mine.’ It’s new.”

Geralt stared at his bathwater. “You could sing it for me. If you want.”

Jaskier blinked a few times. He knew that once Geralt had heard it there would be no hiding his heart anymore, but he felt helpless to say no. Perhaps it was time to throw caution to the wind and be as brave as he had been with a burning branch in his hands. “Alright,” he said hoarsely.

He cleared his throat and shuffled through his papers until he found the jotted down lyrics, since every thought he’d had in his head was suddenly gone. Geralt wasn’t looking at him, but Jaskier could feel his focus anyway, so he sang.

_O, once upon an autumn’s day  
I chanced upon a lone white wolf  
Caught in a trap of brightest silver  
A heavy cage of a fortune’s worth_

_Dear wolf, said I, will you bite me  
If I release you from your bond?  
No need, said he, for this trap of mine  
Is one I forged for myself alone_

_Why, said I, would you do this?  
He said with a smile like a dagger bright  
I walk my path with no comrade  
I drag this trap through my whole life_

_With all of the courage within me  
I opened his trap of silver fine  
And swore on my blood I would follow  
On his path, for this whole life of mine_

Jaskier chanced a look at Geralt, who appeared stricken. He looked like someone had punched him in the gut. Jaskier cleared his throat. “It’s not finished. I can’t think of the ending.”

Geralt frowned and then ducked under the water to rinse his hair. Jaskier bit his lip, resigned to having no response. He returned to gathering his papers clumsily with his bandaged hands, his heartbeat heavy in his chest.

***


	4. Chapter 4

***

Jaskier didn’t watch when Geralt got out of the bath, though the temptation was great. Instead he fiddled with his bandages and wondered why he’d decided it would be a good idea to lay his heart out there by singing that song. Or even writing it in the first place, for that matter.

“Your turn, bard,” Geralt said, and Jaskier glanced over to see him wrapping a bath sheet around his hips. Jaskier waited for him to dress but instead he came straight over to help Jaskier remove his clothes.

Jaskier did his best to shimmy out of his shirt but got caught up in the sleeves, so Geralt helped him. He was standing too close for sanity, too much bare skin within reach, and Jaskier backed up when Geralt reached for his breeches.

“I can do this part myself.” He struggled with the buttons but refused to give up until they were all open, though Geralt still had to help him step out of the breeches. Jaskier removed his own smallclothes and stepped into the tub, glad that it was still warm. He could feel Geralt’s eyes on him but his heart still felt bruised, and he refused to meet his gaze.

“Keep your arms up here,” Geralt said, guiding them onto the rim of the bathtub. He looked at the array of bath salts for a minute, then gathered up some in his palm and sprinkled it in the water. Jaskier smelled lavender and sweet sandalwood, and tried to relax.

Geralt brushed soap across the washcloth and started with his forearms, working up to his shoulders. He was gentle and thorough, and he held the cloth in such a way that he rarely touched Jaskier with his fingers. Still, it was more contact than he’d ever had with Geralt in all the years he’d known him, and he couldn’t help the quick thrum of his heart as he sat there motionless, staring straight ahead so that he couldn’t watch Geralt at work.

He braced himself for the inevitable, when Geralt would have to make the decision of whether or not to wash Jaskier’s cock, and fear of it kept him from getting fully hard at least. There was a moment of hesitation after Geralt had washed down his chest to his stomach, and Jaskier gave a jerky nod, and Geralt quickly washed his privates.

Jaskier made just the tiniest sound when he did, just the barest gasp, and Geralt yanked his hand away fast enough to make the water splash. Out of the corner of his eye Jaskier could see Geralt’s cheeks were slightly flushed.

He quickly recovered and rinsed the soap from Jaskier’s skin, then washed the dust of the road from his hair. Lastly he took Jaskier’s chin in his hand, tipped his head back, and washed his face with the cloth. Of all the ways he’d touched Jaskier in the last two days, this was somehow the most intimate, and Jaskier closed his eyes so as not to show the tears in them.

“It’s good,” Geralt said softly, close enough that Jaskier could feel his breath against his cheek. “Your song.”

Jaskier shivered and his heart sped up to the point that he felt dizzy. “Really? It will sound better when accompanied by the lute.”

“Sounded pretty good without it.”

Given Geralt’s usual taciturn manner, Jaskier felt as though he had just been praised by a king. Surely Geralt had understood what the song had meant, the emotion behind it, and didn’t object to it after all. 

He felt his face flush under Geralt’s hands and he risked opening his eyes. Geralt was kneeling beside the tub, and his expression was hooded. He was close enough to kiss, and Jaskier looked at his mouth, giving himself permission to let his eyes linger.

Geralt gathered water in his hands and carefully rinsed Jaskier’s face, and skimmed his thumb beneath his lower lip, just along the edge. It was so close to his dream that Jaskier opened his mouth, trying to reach for more. Geralt took a deep breath and got to his feet.

Jaskier blinked at the loss of the moment and stood up woodenly in the tub, wondering what had happened. He stepped out and waited while Geralt dried him off with a new bath sheet, trying to gauge Geralt’s mood and motivations. Then Geralt’s hands slowed and he gathered the sheet in his fist at Jaskier’s waist, holding him there, and Jaskier’s breath felt tight in his lungs.

The sound of the rain on the roof filled the air between them, and Geralt touched his shoulder. Jaskier could feel each finger pressing against his skin, each point of contact, the brush of his thumb below Jaskier’s collarbone. Geralt’s eyes seemed more golden in the gray light from the window.

Jaskier felt it was the most important thing in the world to let Geralt come to him, so he waited breathlessly for Geralt to lean forward and kiss him, and when he did he was shocked at the heat of Geralt’s lips. Geralt didn’t kiss the way he spoke, spare and unfeeling, he kissed like a starving man. He kissed like all the things he hadn’t said were just waiting behind his lips, caught on the sweep of his tongue into Jaskier’s mouth.

The suddenness of it all sent Jaskier’s heart reeling, and he wrapped his arms around Geralt’s neck for support. Geralt dropped Jaskier’s bath sheet and pulled him close, naked against him, pressed tight against the hardness under the cloth around his hips.

Jaskier groaned, all sense having left him, and said, “Off, take this off,” grinding against him.

Geralt grunted and whipped the sheet away and then they were skin to skin, and Jaskier couldn’t stop shaking. Geralt’s hand dropped to his lower back and teased him with a light touch that held him there as surely as a rough touch would have.

“Geralt,” he said against his cheek, dragging his mouth across rough stubble to the pulse in his throat. He tasted too clean and Jaskier wanted to bring out his true flavor. “Am I asleep?”

“You were dreaming of me earlier weren’t you?”

Jaskier nodded, hiding his face in Geralt’s neck, letting cool silver hair brush his hot cheeks.

Geralt pulled back to kiss him again, hard and thorough enough that Jaskier’s knees weakened. “Does this feel like a dream?”

“Yes,” Jaskier gasped.

“How about now?” Geralt nibbled at his lower lip and ran his thumbs over Jaskier’s hips.

“You're not convincing me otherwise,” Jaskier groaned.

Geralt smiled at him and Jaskier felt dazed by his beauty. “Come here,” he said, and it was a question even though it didn’t sound like one. Jaskier followed him to the bed where Geralt helped him to lie down, then guided his bandaged hands to rest above his head, crossed at the wrists. “Can I?” he asked, hushed.

Jaskier nodded, afraid to speak in case everything he wanted to say would come flooding out. He watched in disbelief as Geralt straddled his hips and leaned down to kiss his neck, mouthing at his collarbone, kissing his way down Jaskier’s chest. His hair dragged after his touch, silver trails of sensation, cool and wet from his bath. 

Jaskier couldn’t keep from moaning and tried to bite it back, but Geralt said, “I want to hear you,” and scraped his teeth over Jaskier’s nipple. Jaskier’s hands flew to Geralt’s head before he remembered not to, and Geralt stopped to push his hands back above his head. He held them there with one hand, pressing his wrists into the mattress, and Jaskier’s hips twitched upwards. Geralt’s eyes flashed and he leaned down to kiss him, slowly and deeply, his tongue thrusting in a mimicry of something more.

“I’ll take care of you,” Geralt said, his voice low and velvety. “Don’t move.”

“I want to touch you,” Jaskier protested, longing to know how Geralt’s skin would feel under his fingertips. Maybe they were healed enough to try.

Geralt shook his head. “You’ll have to wait for another time. Keep your hands up here or I’ll stop.”

Jaskier bit his lip and nodded.

Geralt released his wrists and moved down to kneel between his legs, and Jaskier barely had a moment to realize what he meant to do before Geralt had taken him into his mouth. For a moment Jaskier’s world shrank to only the sensation of being engulfed in slick heat and a curling tongue. He groaned loudly and Geralt hummed his approval, and Jaskier was genuinely worried that he’d go off before they’d barely started.

“Don’t,” he begged, “I’m too close.”

Geralt pulled off. “You won’t come yet.”

Jaskier took it as a command and brought himself under control, his eyes locked on Geralt’s shining ones. After a minute Geralt resumed his task, his mouth sliding up and down Jaskier’s cock like there was nowhere else he’d rather be, his hand gripping and stroking. He held Jaskier’s hips down with his forearm, and Jaskier couldn’t stop watching him. When Geralt looked up to meet his gaze, Jaskier’s cock throbbed. Geralt’s eyes warned him, and Jaskier did as he was told.

Geralt took him to the edge and no further, and he rode that sharp pleasure for what seemed like an eternity before Geralt finally lifted his mouth free, his tongue swiping across the head of his cock once as he went.

“Good,” he said, his breathing rough. Jaskier stared at the ceiling, gasping for air and wanting so badly to touch. “Tell me you want this.”

“I want it, Geralt, I want you,” he moaned, and if there was a clearer way to answer then he would have done that. He wanted it more than sense, more than he cared whether it ended well or not. He wanted Geralt more than he wanted his fingers to heal.

Geralt left the bed abruptly and Jaskier shouted, “No!” but he returned momentarily with a bottle of what Jaskier presumed was oil. “Don’t fucking scare me like that,” Jaskier said, and Geralt gave him a feral grin, all teeth.

“I’d ask what you want specifically, but I think I already know by the look in your eyes,” Geralt said, lifting the bottle and tipping it back and forth. “That’s good, because it’s the same thing I want. But I need you to keep your hands to yourself, so you have to trust me. I’ll make it good for you.”

“Gods,” Jaskier mumbled, his cock hard as a diamond, “he picks now to become verbose.”

“Up,” Geralt commanded, taking him by the wrists and pulling him up to sit and then turn over on forearms and knees. Jaskier’s hands lay useless in front of him, and his ass in the air exposed him like he’d never been before. Geralt’s hand smoothed over one cheek soothingly, then suddenly his tongue was there licking over his hole, hot and wet, stabbing mercilessly while Jaskier wailed in surprise, curling his fingers into fists and not caring how they hurt.

“Geralt,” he managed, pushing back against him.

“Shh,” Geralt replied, sitting up and pouring oil over his fingers and letting it drip down between Jaskier’s cheeks, a caress in itself. At the slip of one finger Jaskier thought he might die; at the addition of a second Jaskier was sure he had died. Geralt set a rhythm that was both gentle and inexorable, and Jaskier rocked with him all the way through the third finger. At the fourth he moaned and protested.

“Surely that’s enough, Geralt, I can’t wait any more.”

Geralt kept stretching him, and Jaskier heard a smile in his voice. “You can wait. You’re going to need it, trust me.”

Jaskier dropped his head between his arms and clung to his control, almost relieved when Geralt pulled his fingers out and gave him a minute to relax. Geralt slicked his cock and then Jaskier could feel the head pressing against his stretched hole, dripping and hot.

“Are you still with me?”

Jaskier nodded. “So very much with you, Geralt.”

Then Geralt’s cock was breaching him and he forgot how to breathe, how to do anything other than let it happen. He braced himself on his forearms and spread his knees even further, and when Geralt was finally seated as far as he could go Jaskier let out a long, shaky breath.

“Fuck,” Geralt said, and he sounded dazed. “You’re so good, Jaskier.”

Jaskier had heard Geralt say his name many times, almost always with consternation, frustration, or anger. He’d never heard him say it reverently, like he cared. Like he was amazed.

“Please,” Jaskier said, glad that Geralt couldn’t see the tears in his eyes.

Geralt started to move and Jaskier was helpless to do anything but take it, as Geralt’s hands gripped his hips gently enough not to leave bruises but hard enough that he couldn’t even thrust back. It was simultaneously the best and the worst thing that Jaskier could imagine at that moment. 

He wanted to talk, to diffuse the tension he felt at having Geralt behind him, being unable to see his face and know what he was thinking, but all his expansive vocabulary had left him.

And then Geralt changed his angle and Jaskier could only feel that burning pleasure chasing its way up his spine, the swirling euphoria that came from Geralt’s cock spreading him open farther than he thought possible. He was choking on it, that blunt fullness as Geralt pounded into him, and then Geralt reached around and took his cock in a slick hand and Jaskier keened and came over Geralt’s hand in a riot of sensation. Geralt didn’t stop, gripping him until the pleasure turned sharp, fucking into him until Jaskier couldn’t take any more and finally Geralt groaned and throbbed deep inside him.

Geralt fell over Jaskier’s back, curving to fit the shape of him and catching himself on the bed with braced arms. Jaskier just knelt there with his head hanging while he panted, feeling Geralt within him, breathing above him, slick with sweat. He shook with pleasure still, shivering at arrhythmic moments.

“Fuck,” Geralt whispered.

Jaskier nodded.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m good,” Jaskier managed.

“You’re just so quiet.”

“What would you have me say?” 

“Hmm. I just want to know if I...if I hurt you.” Geralt pressed a kiss to his shoulder, a passive brush of lips.

Jaskier took stock of himself, and in doing so tightened around Geralt’s softening cock. Geralt grunted and took a deep breath.

“Nothing damaged, nothing broken,” Jaskier murmured, hoping he’d told the truth. The state of his heart was undetermined. “I do, however, need to lie down.”

Geralt lifted himself off and gently pulled out, and Jaskier collapsed to lie on his side. He ached marvelously and still wanted more, wanted his body to be ready again so that he could rise to that same peak that Geralt had just brought him to. The fact that he craved it already brought a sobering thought, that he was in danger of losing himself in Geralt despite years of carefully keeping his distance.

And Jaskier still didn’t know if this was a curious infatuation for Geralt or something more. He felt so raw, so exposed, that he didn’t have the courage left to ask.

Geralt returned to the bed with one of the discarded bath sheets and cleaned them both up, then he lay down behind Jaskier and pulled him close, kissing his neck softly. Jaskier would not have expected Geralt to be so affectionate, but then there were many ways in which Geralt was surprising him lately.

He ran his hand down Jaskier’s arm from shoulder to wrist, stroking the edge of the bandage there. “Here, let me look.”

Jaskier turned on his back and let Geralt unwind the wrapping from his hand, and it revealed the wounds to be smooth and red now. He carefully spread his fingers and examined them, curled them a little one by one.

Geralt hummed. “They’re healing well. You’ll play again.”

Jaskier closed his eyes, trying to hide the prickling tears there. He could feel that it was true, and a weight lifted from his chest. Geralt pressed a kiss to his temple, seeming to guess at Jaskier’s emotion.

Geralt unwrapped the other hand and it was much the same, reddened and smoothly scarred but flexible. “Let them get some air,” Geralt said, taking one hand in his own and cradling it gently. “I’ll wrap them again later. Get some sleep now.”

He pulled a blanket over them and Jaskier turned again so that he could feel Geralt behind him, a warm wall of safety. Jaskier wanted so badly to trust that Geralt felt the same as he did, but something held him back. A seed of doubt had put down roots, and could not be so easily plucked out. He watched the rain on the window until his eyes grew heavy, but he could not sleep.

***


	5. Chapter 5

***

“I can hear you thinking,” Geralt said a while later, interrupting Jaskier’s reverie. He had been watching the rain lash at the glass and the far off flashes of lightning as the storm worsened.

“I’m always thinking,” Jaskier replied, half smiling as he turned over to face Geralt. “It’s a curse, really. Every moment could become a song.”

Geralt’s fingers followed the curve of his hair over his brow. “Is this going to be a song?”

Jaskier shook his head. “Only for myself.”

“Hmm. Good.” He leaned in and kissed Jaskier softly, and so slowly that it made Jaskier’s toes curl.

“You’re making it very hard to keep my hands to myself,” Jaskier said, lifting his damaged hand and showing Geralt.

“Don’t,” Geralt warned.

“Just a touch. Just one. I don’t care if it hurts.”

Geralt pursed his lips but didn’t say anything.

Jaskier very carefully rested his fingertips on Geralt’s collarbone and trailed them along that line down to his chest. The nerves tingled and stung like a sunburn, but he didn’t mind because he could finally feel the softness of Geralt’s skin, the raw silk unevenness of a scar. He followed his fingertips with his mouth and Geralt groaned quietly, running his fingers through Jaskier’s hair and holding his head there.

Finally the sensation was too much and Jaskier took his hand back, holding it out of the way as he explored with his mouth. He let his teeth catch on the scar and Geralt hissed, his fingers flexing and his hips twitching.

“Interesting,” Jaskier murmured against Geralt’s skin, and he smelled familiar again, like woodsmoke and salt. “You like that?”

“Only when you do it,” Geralt replied, rolling Jaskier onto his back and kissing him, biting gently at his mouth.

Jaskier slipped his thigh between Geralt’s. “I was busy, you know,” he pointed out, rocking up into Geralt so that they both could feel the pressure.

“I know,” Geralt said, his voice a low rumble like the thunder outside. “You can finish exploring later. Right now I need you here.”

He gathered Jaskier in his arms and held him close, kissing him endlessly until Jaskier had to throw his head back to breathe and Geralt dragged his mouth to Jaskier’s throat.

When Geralt lifted himself up to grab the oil from the bedside table Jaskier made a noise of protest. “As much as I’d like to, and I’d really, really like to, you ruined me for today. Ask again tomorrow, please.”

Geralt grinned. “Not that. Just trust me.”

“You say that a lot.”

“You do trust me, though.”

Jaskier swallowed hard and nodded. “Unconditionally.”

Geralt paused and looked at him, and his golden eyes shifted from lustful to astonished.

“Now get on with whatever you’re doing,” Jaskier said hoarsely, trying to diffuse the moment. “My patience is not infinite.”

“Greedy,” Geralt said, and kissed him soundly.

He tipped oil into his palm and then slicked them both, smiling with teeth when Jaskier twitched in his hand. Then he settled his hips down again so that both their cocks were trapped together, slipping hotly against each other.

“Oh, I see,” Jaskier murmured, rolling with Geralt’s rhythm, his heart beginning to pound with want.

“Your trust is rewarded,” Geralt said, then cupped the back of his head and drew him upwards into a kiss that shredded Jaskier’s self control.

He forgot about his hands and started to grab Geralt’s shoulders, then bit back a cry as they stung unexpectedly. Geralt shook his head.

“Stop it, or I’ll have to tie you down,” he admonished. Jaskier did cry out then, and bucked up hard against Geralt’s hip. Geralt raised his eyebrows. Slowly he took Jaskier’s wrists together in his hand, holding them tightly as he rocked against him.

“Please,” Jaskier gasped, unprepared for how much he wanted it. “Geralt.”

“I have you,” Geralt promised, lifting Jaskier’s hands above his head and pressing them to the bed. “Is this what you want?”

“Yes,” he moaned, testing the grip and finding it iron-strong. “I didn’t even know.”

“Maybe it’s just when it’s me,” Geralt said, and leaned down to kiss him. “I like that.”

“I’m sure you do.” Jaskier’s voice was shaky, heavy with desire. He slid his thigh up and hooked his calf around Geralt’s, getting better leverage to thrust. “I wish I could have you again, like before. I would open myself up again for you in a heartbeat if I could.”

It was Geralt’s turn to moan, and Jaskier could feel the jerk of his cock against his hip. “Later,” he promised. “This, for now.”

“Next time I’ll ride you,” Jaskier said dreamily, caught up in imagining it. “I’ll let you take me so deep you’ll never want to leave.”

Geralt’s hand tightened around his wrists almost to the point of pain but no further, and Jaskier felt Geralt pulse between them, over and over, as he grunted like he’d been punched. Jaskier grinned and Geralt dropped down to kiss him, open and rough.

Chest still heaving, Geralt levered himself up and took Jaskier in his hand, spreading oil and his own come all over Jaskier’s cock and letting him rock up into his tight fist. Jaskier only lasted a few moments more, lost in the sensation and the view above him, Geralt’s golden eyes locked onto his.

“Gods,” Jaskier whispered, breathless, collapsing. Geralt knelt above him, just watching. “What?”

Geralt shook his head and touched Jaskier’s lips. His hair was a wild tangle over his shoulders, and Jaskier wanted to drag his fingers through it. He waited for Geralt to speak but he didn’t.

“We’re in need of a wash,” Jaskier commented, beginning to feel sticky and unpleasant.

“Here,” Geralt said, climbing off the bed and helping Jaskier up. He dipped the washcloth into the cold water in the tub, then gave them both a cursory cleaning. “I think asking for two hot baths in one day might use up all our goodwill here. We’ll have to wait for the morning.”

Jaskier gave in to the desire to touch Geralt’s hair and ran his hands down the waving strands, gray as clouds. It was worth the tingle of his palms, worth the long wait. Geralt let him, carefully watching his reaction. Jaskier shivered and Geralt ran his hand down the gooseflesh on his arm.

“Before you do any more damage, let me wrap them again.” He guided Jaskier back to the fireplace and had him sit in the chair while he knelt naked in front of him with the medicine kit.

“Do we have to? I’m desperate to touch again, even if it’s uncomfortable. I want to feel you.”

Geralt sighed and took one of Jaskier’s hands in his. Carefully, as though it were made of porcelain, he raised it and pressed his lips to Jaskier’s palm. All the air seemed to have left the room, and Jaskier was certain his heart had ceased beating for a long moment. Geralt closed his eyes and kissed the scarred flesh, and it was the sweetest pain Jaskier had ever felt.

“You’re so stubborn,” Geralt whispered. “You never listen.”

“I listen,” Jaskier replied, just as hushed. “I’m just stronger than I look.”

Geralt nodded. He opened the jar of salve and massaged the oil into Jaskier’s hands, gently and thoroughly, until it was all gone. The numbing properties helped the sting as Jaskier touched Geralt’s cheeks carefully and drew him upwards into a kiss.

“I’d keep you like this forever if I could,” Jaskier said, laying his heart out between them.

“We’d have to get dressed eventually,” Geralt said against his lips. “We can’t live here.”

“I meant--”

Geralt cut off his words with a consuming kiss, not as passionate as it was distracting, and his unspoken answer was confusing. He clearly felt affection and lust and a certain amount of responsibility, but maybe that was all. 

Jaskier gently disengaged from the kiss and stood up, gathering his strength. “You’re right,” he said, looking for his clothes and turning away from Geralt’s confused gaze. “I’m hungry, let’s order supper.”

It took him a while to dress but he did it by himself, very carefully. Buttons secured and shirt straightened, he went to the window and looked out, wishing he could see more than the flashes of lightning in the dark sky. He heard the door open and close again behind him, and turned to find himself alone in the room.

He assumed that Geralt would be having food brought to their room, but suddenly Jaskier couldn’t stand the thought of being in that room for a moment longer. He struggled with his boots and pulled on his doublet, then joined Geralt at the bar in the public room.

Geralt was startled to see him but recovered quickly, securing a table for them in the back of the room. Jaskier sipped his ale and tried not to watch Geralt too closely. It wasn’t his fault if he didn’t feel the same depth of emotion as Jaskier did, just as it wasn’t Jaskier’s fault that he wanted so much more from Geralt than they already had. The heart wants what it wants, Jaskier told himself, trying to regain his composure.

Jaskier had to eat slowly so as not to fumble his fork, but it felt good to have his independence back. He couldn’t help but remember Geralt’s fingers brushing his lips as he helped him eat, and that had given way to even more intimacy.

Even if it wasn’t to last, Jaskier still felt it had been worth it.

“How are they?” Geralt asked, gesturing at his hands.

He shrugged. “Not perfect, but much better. I’ve got some numb spots but I can’t tell if it’s nerve damage or the salve.”

“That salve will heal as much as it possibly can. Yennefer made it with just this kind of injury in mind.”

Jaskier flinched at the mention of her name. “But you have your healing abilities.”

“Yes, but you don’t.” He drank his ale as though that statement had been nothing at all.

“You can’t possibly convince me that she made that salve for me.”

Geralt shrugged. “Not you specifically, maybe. But I’m sure she thought of you.”

Jaskier frowned into his tankard. 

“You’re always with me,” Geralt continued, looking uncomfortable. “It was inevitable that someday you’d be seriously hurt.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier said hesitantly, “if you don’t. If you…”

He set down his fork and looked at Jaskier. “What.”

“I know I’m always here. And I’ll follow you until you tell me truly to leave. But I need to know if that’s all...all there is. Just complacency. Just familiarity.”

Geralt looked stricken, but didn’t speak as he stared down at the scarred table in front of him.

“Excuse me,” Jaskier said softly. “I need some air.”

He stumbled away from the table and weaved his way through the crowd to the door. He pushed it open and the wind pushed back, but he was glad of the way it whipped against his hot cheeks as he left the inn behind. The lights in the stable called to him, but he made it no further than the well in the middle of the courtyard.

The rain wasn’t heavy but the intermittent flashes of lightning amplified the storm. Jaskier closed his eyes and leaned back against the stone well, breathing in the cool air. He pressed his hands to the wet stones and hung his head.

He’d stay anyway. It was never a question for him. But he couldn’t go on with Geralt the way they’d been the last two days, he valued his own heart more highly than that. It was just a matter of finding his strength, his equilibrium. He’d done it for years, he could do it again.

The only difference was that now he’d go on knowing what Geralt’s skin felt like under his hands, the intensity of his golden eyes at the height of passion, the tenderness he was capable of.

Jaskier took a deep breath and opened his eyes--and Geralt was standing in front of him, his hair dripping and his fists clenched at his sides.

“I should tell you to leave.” Geralt’s voice was so low that Jaskier could barely hear it under the rumble of thunder in the distance.

“Will you?”

Geralt shook his head. “I’m not a good man. You deserve so much better than what I can offer you, and I won’t always be able to keep you safe. But I’m selfish enough to want you to stay.”

“I told you, I’m not leaving unless you tell me to.” He wanted to reach out but he dug his fingers into the stone behind him until they burned like fire. “But I have to know if all that,” he gestured to the inn with its warmly glowing windows, “was just because I needed you.”

Geralt reached out and pushed Jaskier’s wet fringe out of his eyes. “I need you too.” It sounded like he had to drag those words across broken glass to get them out, but there they were, filling the air between them.

Jaskier stood up and tentatively held Geralt’s face in his hands, searching his eyes as best he could in the dark. When he was satisfied with what he saw there he leaned in and kissed him, licking across his rain-washed lips until Geralt opened his mouth and dragged Jaskier hard against him. Jaskier slid his hands down to grip Geralt’s broad shoulders and held on as tightly as he could, letting himself feel all the pleasure and all the pain together.

“I need you,” Geralt repeated, and it sounded easier this time. It sounded like love.

***

Their clothes were spread out on the hearth to dry, and the crackling fire filled the room with warmth and light. Jaskier leaned back against Geralt’s bare chest, Geralt’s legs stretched out on either side of his on the bed. Geralt’s hands traced up and down Jaskier’s naked ribs, just firmly enough not to tickle, and Jaskier breathed deeply, a feeling like honey in his veins.

He readjusted the lute in his arms, testing out the strings under his fingertips. Though they burned to the touch, it was worth it to hear the way the strings sang to him as he plucked them. He could wrap his fingers around the neck and let them find their way instinctively, playing blind.

_If you choose to follow the path I lead,  
Warned the wolf with his eyes of gold  
Many dangers you’ll face beside me  
Your life as the price, no matter how bold_

_I gathered my heart in my two hands  
And offered it up as a promise true  
The journey is greater than the end  
And each step I will walk with you_

Jaskier felt Geralt’s breathing hitch against his shoulder blades and he leaned his head back on Geralt’s shoulder. “What do you think? Too sentimental? Will the audience laugh or cry?”

Geralt kissed his temple and held him tight. “Hmm,” he said softly, and Jaskier smiled.

***

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the journey. Kudos and comments always brighten my day!


End file.
